Dean pulls Baby to a stop in front of a modest ranch style home. He is still irritated with the sheriff. Granted, the guy is a dick; however, the urge to beat him into a bloody, crimson pulp of viscous goo still courses through his body. He takes a deep breath and tries his best to shake it off. Sam is already out of the car and waiting for him. They walk up to the small front porch. Dean knocks on the door. A voice yells from inside. "Coming." A beautiful woman opens the door. She is almost six feet tall with dark brown hair infused with auburn and golden natural highlights. Her eyes are hazel and her body is rounded in all of the right places. Her lips are full and opened in surprise.

"Oh my God. It's you." she whispers in awe.

Sam opens his badge. "I'm Agent Collen and this is Agent Elliott."

A look of confusion skitters across her face before a smirk plays on her lips. "No, you're Sam, you're Dean, but nice metal band reference."

Dean is at first stunned then his eyes narrow in on her. "Have we met before?"

"No."

Sam's confusion fuels his words, "How do you know us?"

A buzzer blares through the house. "Follow me into the kitchen and we can talk there."

Dean follows and admires the view of her ass encased in washed out blue jeans. He really hopes she isn't something he has to gank because the sway of her hips has his blood racing. It's been awhile since his last hook up but seducing the supernatural friend of a victim is skanky even in his book. It didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the happy rush and then take care of business back at the hotel where magic fingers were calling out to him. When he enters the kitchen she is bending down in front of the stove. The smell alone is breathtaking but pair that with her bent over and his body tightens further with awareness.

Sam joins Dean at the island in the middle of the kitchen. She stands up and turns around placing a steaming hot pie on the granite. Sam watches Dean knowing his mouth is watering like some frigging Pavlov test subject. He just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Dean is so predictable but the pie does smell good. He watches her lay down the potholders and scratch her cheek. A smudge of flour lingers.

"Sorry, I bake to calm myself. What can I do for you?"

"Are you Emory West?" Sam asks because Dean hasn't looked at anything but the pie since it was set on the island in front of him.

"Yes."

"How do you know us?"

"You're not a prophet are you?" Dean asks as he drags his gaze to Emory.

"No, I'm not a prophet. I do have visions. Sometimes they come true and sometimes they don't. But I have had enough to know that if you're here, it's worse than I thought."

Sam watches the emotions chase across her face. "What did you think?"

Emory sighs, "I thought, no, I hoped, that something came up. An emergency, or I don't know." She turns abruptly, moves to the cupboard and pulls out some desert plates before taking some forks out of a drawer.

Dean watches her graceful movements. "You reported her missing?"

"Yes." She grabs a pie server off the counter.

"How did you know she was missing?" Dean can't help it but he licks his lips, watching her standing over the pie with the server in her hand.

Sam has his pencil poised over the notepad in his hand. "Like you said, maybe an emergency came up?"

Emory dishes up the pie and places a plate before each of them as she answers. "I had talked to her about forty-five minutes or so before I arrived. She was sick and I was coming over to watch a movie. I was running a little late."

Dean takes a bite and the flavors explode on his tongue. A feeling of happiness and lust rushes through his body. "Oh my God. What kind is this?"

"It's whiskey caramel apple."

"It's awesome." He looks at Sam and notices he hasn't touched his slice. "You've got to try this."

Sam looks uncomfortable and notes something in his notebook. Emory smiles brightly, "I'm glad you like it." Dean savors each bite, not bothering to ask any more questions. He notices Sam still hasn't touched his piece and he slides it his way because there is absolutely no reason to waste an awesome pie. It would be rude to Emory if they left it untouched.

"When you entered her house did you see anything out of place?" Sam frowns at Dean and receives a pie filled smile. He focuses on Emory and just hopes she doesn't notice that Dean is wolfing down his food.

"No, everything looked normal."

"Any cold spots, smells, or any odd occurrences."

Emory shrugs, "She was sick. There could have been cold spots. I don't know. I didn't smell anything other than chicken soup. The only odd occurrence is that she wasn't home."

Dean swallows his last bite of Sam's pie. "You said you have visions. Did you have any of your friend?"

"No. If I had, I would have tried to stop it. The one thing I do know is that this bastard works on a five day cycle and she has four days left."

Emory turns around and pulls a key ring out of her purse before handing it to Sam. "This is the key to her house." She grabs a roll of tin foil, yanks off a piece and covers a whole pie sitting on the counter. She hands the pie to Dean. "If you need anything else, let me know and I'll get it for you."

Dean pulls a card out of his jacket and hands it to Emory. "This is my cell phone and the hotel we are staying at. If you think of anything else give us a call."

Emory takes the card. It is still warm. "Thank you. I will."

Dean follows Sam back to the Impala. Sam is more stiff than usual and just looks pissed. After anchoring the pie between them in the front seat he slips the key in the ignition. "What?"

Sam shakes his head. "Dude, how about showing some respect. Her friend was just kidnapped and could wind up dead."

"Why pretend? She knows who we are and she had pie." Dean fires up the Impala. "Kathryn's house?"

Sam nods and stares out the window. They are still working on their issues. Working together as family is hard. Working together as strangers serves a purpose but is ultimately lonely. There are days when he just wants to either take a swing at his brother or just throw his hands up in the air and walk away. Today seems like a good day for a walk.

The smell of pie permeates the interior of the Impala. Dean tries really hard to focus on the drive over to Kathryn's house. Sam is mad at him, as usual, and the pie seems to be the lesser of two evils. When they arrive, Sam grabs the EMF detector out of the trunk and Dean grabs a small container of holy water and another of salt. You can never be too careful. Some would call it paranoia; Dean calls it common sense. One ghost ass whipping is one too many.

Sam unlocks the front door and peeks inside. Actually having the keys to a house is a bit unfamiliar and daunting. Just opening the front door and not having to skulk around is a new and refreshing experience. Breaking and entering has its merits, but having the key feels powerful. Dean walks into the house and looks around the living room, his gun at the ready for anything that might jump out at him. Sam runs up the stairs. The EMF flat lines everywhere he points it. No activity, nothing out of place. Sam enters the kitchen and finds Dean looking out the back door. "Did you find anything?" Dean asks as he closes the back door.

"Nope. No sulfur, no EMF, and nothing out of place."

"Emory mentioned she smelled chicken soup when she walked in?"

"Yes?" Sam looks in the refrigerator. "There's a large bowl of chicken soup in here. Did the kidnapper let her put it away before he took her?"

"A considerate killer? I don't think so. We need to get our hands on the crime scene photos."

"I'll call Dr. Ramsay." Sam pulls out his cell phone and listens to it ring. He wanders into the living room as he starts to talk to Dr. Ramsay. Dean pokes around the kitchen some more.

"Dr. Ramsay said he will get us everything he can. He said he'd already started making copies and he'll drop it off later tonight."

Dean opens a cupboard. "At least someone is on board." He stares at the shelves, "What the hell?"

"What's wrong?"

Dean steps back and shows Sam the cupboard. Each shelf is immaculate with cans stacked in alphabetical order and in neat rows. Sam shrugs. Dean shakes his head. "Really? Either Kathryn has OCD or a ghost is channeling "Sleeping with the Enemy". Dean watches the light of recognition spark in Sam's eyes. Sam steps back into the living room. The living room is messy with magazines strewn on the coffee table and empty glasses sitting on the mantle over the fireplace. "The living room isn't immaculate. Maybe she obsesses more about the kitchen."

Dean follows into the living room. "Or, maybe the ghost has OCD. Great a clean freak ghost."